Imagine
by Aeroxin
Summary: Let's imagine the end before we ever begin." Childhoods are ripped apart when war ravishes a once quiet Colorado mountain town.
1. 01 : Remember

"Let's imagine the end before we ever begin."

The air was cold and crisp, threatening to bleed his nose dry before the day was out. He had always had a terribly sensetive nose, even when he was a young boy running around Mr. Garrison's elementary class. It appeared that even though the world was upside down and turning inside out, some things never changed. Any other day it would of been a glimpse of comfort, but today he wasn't so fortunate. No, today reality had its teeth sunk deep into his face and wasn't about to let go anytime soon. Today he was forced to face everything head on and fuck the consequences, whatever they may be in the end. If there even was an end for them, at this point. It's not like they deserved some fitting closure that would make everything seem like it was worthwhile. The things they had done....the things they had seen...no, they didn't deserve a god damn thing anymore. But they sure as hell acted like it.

"Do you remember when we said that phrase?" It was a rhetorical question, and they both knew the answer to it clear as day, but it had to be said outloud. Right now, everything had to be laid out and reaffirmed to make sure that they knew exactly what was going on. No doubts, no second guesses, no faults. Black was black and white was white and gray never existed in their world; there was no room for muddled grays. Not anymore. "It was seventeen years ago." It was so quick to speak but felt so long to live through, and everyone involved felt its weight and toll. They looked older then what they were, felt older then what they were. Like walking corpses. They were as good as dead, they had been for quite some time now. Just speeding up the process, at this point. Every day, they were just marching towards their death. And today was the grand finale, extraordinaire.

At least, that's how Ze Mole would of said it, in that biting tone between puffs of clove scented cigarette smoke. Arched against a lamp post, dirty and disheveled, that bright gleam drawing you in and threatening to suffocate you in a moment's notice, like fire. _"The grand fucking finale, extraordinaire, gentleman." _He would of kissed the tip of his middle finger before raising it to the heavens, cursing every higher power that he could draw from memory. Yeah, that's how he would of said it.

"How has it felt, killing the people you once loved?" The words were biting and cold and dripping in venom but they weren't condescending. Not by a long shot. It was understandable, the situation he had found himself in when it had happened. In all reality, it had been a smart move, tactical and resourceful and an absolutely higher chance of survival then any other alternative. Complately and utterly sane in an otherwise insane world. But in some small way, some underlying form, it was unforgiveable. It wasn't even the fact that he killed those dearest to both of them. It wasn't even the fact that he felt no pangs of regret when he tore Tolken's head in half with the sheer power of the weapon he had been holding at the time, not knowing how delicate the trigger had been. It wasn't even the fact that they were standing face to face, watching him kill his last tie to who he had been. No, none of that mattered. None of it.

"Stan Marsh. Deceased. Leopold "Butters" Scotch. Deceased. Bebe Stevens, Clyde Donovan, Craig Tucker, Timmy, Tolken Black, Tweek Tweak, Wendy Testaburger. All deceased." He had the list in his head, laid out perfectly in scrawling ink and embroidered paper; the kind of list that they deserved to be put on. Not the nameless graves made out of old timber and rusted nails that they occupied instead. He didn't even know where half of those graves were located, and he doubted they would ever be found again, if everything would go according to plan. Their final crime together.

"Most of them are dead because of you." He lowered his head, imagining how things use to be. How could he not, standing on the roof of what use to be their Elementery School. Directly below where he was standing, was where Mr. Garrison use to hold his third grade class. Where this had all started, in some form or another. Unknowingly, unwillingly, and unbelievably rolling everything out to hold the stage they found themselves on. Certain areas of the roof were unstable, frail, and threatened to collapse under the slightest touch. Most places weren't even left standing, walls being crumbled away years ago. Graffiti littered the stones and bricks that were left, aimless homeless people using it as a shelter against the heavy storms that came through. "And you can't even say a thing, can you?" A whisper. "Say something." Louder. "Say something!" He was yelling now, fists clenched at his side, eyes tearing up despite everything. "Say something Kyle!" Startled crows took flight into the bleak distance, away from the two of them, leaving them completely alone now. Exactly how it should be. But it was wrong. So wrong.

Emerald eyes never once shifted away from him. They didn't blink, they didn't falter, they didn't waiver. It was like they were burning a hole through years of composure that he had managed to build up for this very day. _And it was all being eaten away._ His pulse was steady, his breathing even, the gun still aimed perfectly at his heart. A clean shot. But he hadn't pulled the trigger, this entire time. A stray bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face, catching perfectly on the tip of one of his reddish locks of hair. It glistened from the sun rising in the distance. Rising far too slowly.

"I remember." He finally spoke, a small sigh escaping his lips. "Let's imagine the end before we ever begin, that way we'll always know our destination." It was a concept they had all came up with standing at the bus stop one morning, when they were struggling with who they wanted to be and what they wanted to become. They made a promise, to themselves and to eachother, to never forget that phrase.

And...they had all kept it, in their own personal way...


	2. 02 : Survival

He was seconds away from getting out the door, backpack slung over their shoulder, hat tight around his red curls. It was frightfully cold that morning, the wind chill setting it well bellow zero degrees, frost clinging to the windows for dear life. No animals scurried outside. No birds chirped in the trees. They all kept to their nests and houses, keeping their warmth and comfort. The sky was a striking clear blue for once, sun shining high but offering no warmth to those bellow, as if taunting them. Just like the rumors around town had been taunting them for weeks, all boiling down to this single day alone. Five years ago they had all been excited over the release of Terrance and Phillip : Asses on Fire, one of the highest grossing movies of all time. They had been such kids, enjoing their fart jokes and horrid racism, all the while being oblivious to everything else. Luckily they had grown up since that time, if only by a little bit. Now they were all excited to see how they scored on their SATs, if they could finally get out of this dead mountain town and make something of themselves. There were no jobs, no security, and no hope in South Park. Not anymore. No, they all wanted out, one way or another, and today was the day they were going to find out how. College, the military, it all depended on how they did on one little test. He had studied months and he had been confident filling out the answers, there was no way he wasn't going to make something of himself.

He was seconds away from getting out the door, backback flying off his shoulder, hat torn to pieces as it smashed into the wall behind him. He was knocked off his feet, glass crashing around his ears as everything went silent for a moment, red filling his vision. He stumbled forward, cracking his head against the doorframe before falling backwards, landing roughly on his ass, coughing into his gloved hands. He remembered wondering where his backpack had gone for a split second, interrupted only by the sight of his fathers leg sticking out of the study, twisted at such an odd angle that he knew not to go over there. He wouldn't like what was over there, so he went in the opposite direction, up the stairs to his brother's room. From an early age he had been taught to look after his brother, blood related or not, and to make sure he was okay. He _had_ to make sure he was okay, or his mom would yell at him. His head hurt; he didn't want to get yelled at. "Ike..." A mutter beneath his heavy breathing, eyes shifting wildly, unable to focus. Where had the ceiling gone? "Ike." He called out louder this time, spotting his pale blue sheets and mountains of pillows, even a few stuffed animals laying about. He found him in the closet, under a pile of shirts and jeans, a few stray hangers threatening to poke him in the back. A few scratches on his face, but otherwise there was nothing wrong. Everything else was wrong, but they were okay. For now.

"What the hell was that?" Ike had grown up so much in the past five years. He was one of the most intelligent people in South Park, and he was what? Ten? That was either very impressive of him or very depressing for the rest of the town. Even now, when Kyle couldn't remember what hand was right or left, Ike was calm and collected for the most part, eyes flashing with worry and stress. He stood up from his hiding place, grabbing a few things out of his desk, running back to Kyle. "I said, what the hell was that?"

Kyle stared a moment before actually putting thought into what had happened. Everything was fine, then everything was hell. A good portion of their roof was missing, as well as some walls, and the amount of destruction was terrifying. A car hit their house? No, that didn't explain the roof unless it was cautapolted into the air, and he highly doubted that scenerio. The only other thing he could think about was a bomb but...that didn't make any sense. Why would someone choose their house to be bombed, let alone South Park? There was nothing here except a movie theater, a school, and a shit ton of bars. No.... "I don't know." He mumbled. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Where are Mom and Dad?" Ike was a no-nonsense type of person, and he always had been. It didn't surprise him in the least, but at the same time, he didn't want to know the answer. The way his dad's leg had been twisted, the small amount of bone showing through, the complete lack of movement...no, he wasn't going to let Ike go down and see that.

"Let's stay up here." It was more commanding then he meant to be, but it had to happen. "Jesus." His adrenaline was through the roof and it felt like he was going to explode, not even feeling the cuts and bruises all over his body anymore. Dragging his cellphone out of his jacket pocket, he quickly text Stan, simply asking what the fuck just happened. He sent the same thing to Kenny, Cartman, and even Butters. It was a small town and news travelled fast, so it was doubtful they didn't know what the hell he was talking about. He paused. "Do you hear that?"

They wandered over to the window together, Ike throwing back the blinds as they peered through the simple glass. There were chunks the size of cars missing from the road, some completely gone while others were replaced in yards or through buildings. Some were even on fire, waving with reds and golds as it eventually charred down to blackness. Ike took a step back but Kyle couldn't help but learn forward, struggling to see everything at once. This was...beyond surreal. He could hear the faint screams of neighbors and the occasional discharge of something he couldn't quite recognize, as painfully familiar as it was. On the tip of his tounge, struggling to escape, but to no avail. "Ike...what the fuck happened..." Being the useful child he was, he was already on the computer, struggling to gain a connection. Kyle had gave him one of his old computers, not needing it once he got his personalized desktop that he had always dreamt about. "You got anything?" Kyle kept his eyes glued to the window, as if the disaster would somehow tell him how it came to be.

Ike shook his head, throwing the keyboard down on the desk before getting back up. "Nothing's working. It won't boot up, it won't flicker, it won't do shit." Ike wasn't a computer dummy, so if he couldn't get on, he couldn't get on. End of discussion. A mass amount of destruction, the failure of technology? He couldn't help but come back to the same conclusion. "Who would want to bomb South Park?" As the words left Ike's mouth, he couldn't help but shake his head, finally realizing exactly what had happened and why it had happened. He wanted to sit down, cry for a minute, then throw a chair out the window. But he didn't have that luxary and if he gave in, he would be wasting time, which was something they didn't have. He had realized it all too late, even if it had only been five minutes. It had felt like years.

"We're leaving. Now. No questions." Kyle grabbed Ike by the arm, dragging him down the stairs, using his own body to shield his vision from the study. He wasn't going to forget about that, no way in hell. This was their own personal hell, and it was all possible thanks to their own family. It was a sick form of poetry, really. Sometimes he was sure that God had a sick sense of humor. He threw open the door, stopping only to grab his wallet off the floor, shutting it forcefully behind them. Everything was in dissary, just as it had looked from the window. Of course, why would it look any different? A harsh reality. He turned on a dime, rushing towards Stan house. He had to warn the rest of them. He had to get Stan, then Kyle, then Cartman, and eventually Butters if they had the time. They wouldn't realize it right away like he had, because it wasn't in their heads everyday like it was for him. No...he flipped open his cellphone, about to type out his message, but was stopped short as he ran into something hard, causing him to drop Ike and fall back on his ass for the second time. Groaning, he glanced up, face to face with an AK-47. He paused, breath catching, eyes focused soley on the silver and black that threatened him so easily. His eyes finally wandered up, spotting greens and browns, slowly clicking in his head that it was a military uniform. A Canadian military uniform.

"Stop or die." A simple command from a gruff and raspy voice, the owner of the gun that was aimed between his eyes. He had Ike in his other arm, lifted off the ground with ease despite his struggling and protest. He was such a small boy for his age. "Is this your relation?" Came the voice again, watching him carefully as he spoke, nodding towards Ike.

Kyle stammered. "Y-y-yes. He's my brother. His name is Ike." He couldn't help but talk, wondering if this was all some fucked up dream that he would wake up from, drenched in sweat. Something told him it was no dream, and he wasn't going to test his flimsy theory. "What...what's going on?" He had to know. It was _obvious_ that he knew.

The man frowned, lines tight around his mouth and eyes, showing his age. "Canada has declared war on the United States. It is time we are taken seriously." He readjusted Ike, paying him no attention. "Do you want to live, or would you both die?" The man asked as if it were a simple choice between two gaming counsoles. One provided ultimate graphics and experience. The other provided a cardboard box. But it wasn't as simple as that, and Kyle couldn't fathom how he could say something like that so easily, as if it were an everyday occurence. He paused, thinking despite himself, and everything that he knew was happening around him. He knew it was his only choice, and it was only because Ike was his brother. He wasn't saved because he was important, or helpful, or worth the effort. He was saved because his brother was a Canadian.

"I want to live." A weak voice, eyes wide with worry until the gun finally was set away from him, tucked back into his belt. The man grabbed him by the arm as well, leading them both away from their house and ultimately, away from South Park. "I want the both of us to live." He said again, eyes filling up with tears. He knew exactly what was going to happen, to both him and everyone in South Park. He knew what had started it, what had caused it, and ultimately, how it was going to end. He didn't like a single option there was, but he could choose the safest of them all. To make sure his brother was okay. To make sure they would both be able to protect eachother.

His cellphone lay in the street where he fell, screen flashing with a new text message from Stan.

"Run."


End file.
